The Hole I Dug
by flYegurl
Summary: My most vivid memory: The thin beam of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Looking through the crack in the door. The bloodstain on the seat of Iggy's pajama pants. Tears. That thought, 'I could have done something.' But I was a coward. Three-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Myself, ten years old. The house was dark and quiet. The thin streak of light across the wooden floor. The soft sounds that I could never forget. The crack in the doorway, just enough for my ten-year-old self to look. Just enough.

The day had started off as normally as any other. We had eggs for breakfast. We watched Saturday morning cartoons on the television. Max chased Gazzy and Nudge around in the grass. Angel fed from her bottle. Iggy walked with his feet dragging along the floor, hands trailing along the walls, smiling, ears sticking out, red hair fluffy and soft from conditioner. Freckles across his nose. Blue eyes shining. Smile bright. I remember his face that day. His smile. It was the last time I ever saw it.

Lunch was sandwiches. Sandwiches and orange juice. Max complained, said she wanted apple juice, not orange. Iggy spilled his, broke the glass. Jeb cleaned it up, tousled Iggy's hair, smiled and laughed. Angel started to cry.

Jeb went down to the city that afternoon, and brought back a surprise; pizza, for dinner. Everyone smiled, cheered, jumped up and down in excitement. We had never tasted pizza before.

At the end of the meal, everyone wanted fourths. There was only one piece left, and Jeb gave it to Iggy. It didn't seem suspicious.

After a dessert of vanilla ice-cream, another rarity, we went off to bed. Iggy, the Gasman and I still shared a room, then. We were still young. Me, ten; Iggy, nine; Gazzy, three. Iggy had just lost his two front teeth. Jeb had said that the lisp it gave him was adorable. The thought of that comment, now, makes me sick.

It was midnight when Jeb came into our room, treading silently. I woke instantly when he forgot about the squeaky floorboard at the foot of Iggy's bed, but I remained quiet, squinting at him through my lashes, hiding my face with my blanket, disguising my alertness. Jeb shook Iggy awake, shushing him with a finger to his lips.

"Quiet, son, don't wake Fang or Gazzy," Jeb murmured. Iggy was bleary and confused, but I became indignant. What did Jeb have to tell Iggy that he didn't want to tell me? "Follow me," whispered Jeb, lifting the tired Iggy out of his bed and leading him quietly out of the room. I waited in bed, watching them turn down the hall. I wanted to know what Jeb was telling Iggy in secret.

I waited until I was sure that they were out of earshot and then crept silently out of my bed and into the hall.

The house was dark, quiet. Almost eerie. I tiptoed down towards the crack of light outside of Jeb's bedroom, and it looked as though it was at the far end of a dark tunnel. Like I was Indiana Jones, sneaking through an underground cave full of booby traps and hidden arrows and primitive warriors. I had to be quiet and careful. It was almost a game; I, Indiana Jones, on a mission to spy on Jeb and Iggy. I would find out the big secret, and then Iggy wouldn't be the only one.

As I drew closer, I became aware of noises. Jeb was whispering something already; I had to hurry, or I would miss it.

I nearly stumbled in my rush to the door, but luckily I was well learned in the art of stealth from my years in the School, and caught myself before any noise was made. Quietly, cautiously, I stepped forward to the crack in the door and drew in a shuddering, excited breath.

"You see, Iggy, I can trust you to keep a secret, can't I?" Jeb whispered. I grinned. It wasn't just Iggy who would know the secret, now. It was me too.

"Of course," Iggy breathed. "But, Jeb, I don't know why you had to wake me up so late. I'm very tired."

"Well, I didn't want anyone else to overhear us," Jeb chuckled. "You, Iggy, are the only one I can trust with this. The others mustn't hear us. And you must be very quiet so they don't wake up."

"Okay," whispered Iggy. He giggled nervously. "What is it?"

I held my breath as there was silence on the other side of the door. What was Jeb going to tell him? And why_ him_? I was just as good, even better, because I could see. What could only Iggy know?

"You know I love you, don't you, Iggy?" Jeb asked. There was a movement on the bed, Iggy shifting his position.

"Yes," he replied uncertainly.

"Do you love me?" Silence. What about the secret?

"Well, yes," Iggy stuttered. "Why?"

"Iggy, will you give me a kiss?"

There was no reply, and I heard Iggy squirm. I was started to grow doubtful. What about the secret? What was Jeb doing?

"Don't you love me, Iggy?" A soft sound, I assumed Iggy nodding. "Then you'll kiss me, won't you?"

A pause. "O-okay," came Iggy's response. I strained to look through the crack in the doorway into the room, but could see nothing but a small stripe of the opposite wall. I didn't dare open the door wider, because Jeb would hear me and know that I had been spying, and I'd get in trouble.

I heard Jeb lean forward, and Iggy let out a short breath. There was a moment of silence, a rustling sound, and Iggy squeaked. Jeb pulled away.

"What is it?"

Iggy stammered. "Why… w-why did you put your tongue in my mouth?"

Jeb emitted a little sigh, as though he was annoyed about having to explain something very simple to someone very ignorant.

"You like cats, don't you, Iggy?"

"Yes," Iggy said. "But…"

"Don't you remember how the cat kissed you the other day, when we found her in the woods? She licked you, didn't she?"

I heard Iggy nod, but it was slow, as though he didn't know what was happening anymore.

"Well, that's what I did," Jeb whispered. "It was a kiss. Like a kitty kiss. You like kitties, Iggy."

"I do," Iggy said, sounding afraid. "But I don't really want…"

"Don't you trust me, Iggy? I thought you would trust me after all these years, after I gave you food, after I rescued you from the School, after I provided you with a home and toys."

"I do trust you, Jeb," said Iggy.

"So be quiet, and give me this in return. Just this, in return for all the things I've done for you. That's not too much to ask, is it? Just this, in return for everything I've ever done for you and the flock?"

Silence. Shifting on the bed. A sniff.

"No. I guess not."

"Right," Jeb said. "Of course right. Iggy, after all I've done for you, you can be quiet for me, right? Just be quiet, and give me this."

"Okay," Iggy murmured.

My eyes widened as I continued to look through the crack in the door. This sounded weird. Jeb was acting so oddly. There wasn't a secret for him to tell? He just wanted Iggy to kiss him. But why would he want Iggy to do that? Of all the things he could have asked for, it was an odd request. And I knew it was wrong. I knew.

Iggy whimpered quietly from inside, and I shifted my position, trying to look through the crack from a different angle. From this new spot, through the crack in the door I could see a thin strip of Iggy and Jeb on Jeb's bed. I could see Jeb's mustache. I could see Iggy's hair. Jeb's tongue, licking the side of Iggy's face.

I took a shuddering breath. It was wrong. But I didn't move. I stood silently, watching.

"Jeb… I… I want to stop," Iggy said, sounding shaken.

"Not now, Iggy, just a little longer," replied our caretaker, his voice thick. "Take your shirt off."

"But I…"

"Now, son. Don't you trust me? Don't you love me?"

Jeb pulled Iggy's pajama top over the little boy's head, and Iggy didn't protest. My eyes remained fixed on that little strip of Iggy that I could see, bare-chested and shivering, whether from fear or exposure I couldn't be sure.

"Your pajama bottoms, too, Iggy," Jeb said softly, his mouth at Iggy's ear. Iggy flinched, stood on the bed, allowed Jeb to pull his pants down to his ankles along with his underwear, Jeb's fingers trailing slowly down Iggy's bare legs. His face went to kiss Iggy's stomach. Iggy shuddered.

I watched Iggy's discomfort from the doorway, his silenced protests, his quiet whimpers of resignation as Jeb lay him face-down on the bed, keeping him still with a hand on his lower back, unbuckling his own belt and unzipping his pants.

"You mustn't tell the flock, Iggy," Jeb said sternly. "This is our secret between the two of us. Only we can know."

My breathing hitched in my chest as Jeb placed his large, callused palm on the back of Iggy's head, pressing his face into the blanket, muffling Iggy's cries. I felt something wet running down my wrist and with a start realized that I was biting into my knuckle, so hard that it had broken skin.

I hesitated. The hallway was dark. The house was quiet. I had one chance, one moment to decide to help him.

I turned away from Iggy's muffled sobs and from Jeb's rhythmic grunts and walked quickly but silently back into our bedroom, even though I knew that with Jeb's preoccupations he wouldn't have heard me if I had stomped. I clambered into my bed without waking Gazzy and sat up, chewing my nails down to their cuticles, breathing heavily, nervous and stressed.

Ten minutes later, I heard the slow sound of Iggy's feet dragging along the wooden flooring outside our room. A moment more, and the door was creaking open, Iggy's face appearing in it, his cheeks wet, snot dribbling down his chin, him still sniffling. He walked quietly towards his bed, but froze suddenly, turning to look at me, his mouth open slightly.

"Oh, Iggy," I said hurriedly. "I had a nightmare. Since you're up already, could you get me a glass of water from the bathroom?"

There was a moment of silence between us as he stared towards me, tears still trickling down his face, and I looked into his bloodshot eyes, biting my lip. He closed his mouth and nodded, turning to walk back into the hallway, towards the bathroom to get my drink.

He knew. He knew that I had seen, and that I had done nothing to stop it. But he pretended not to know, just as I pretended that I didn't see the dark stain in the seat of his pajama pants, or the drops of blood that fell to the floor from between his legs. And when he returned a few minutes later with the water, I pretended to be asleep.

**I have relatives who suffered sexual abuse as children. This fanfiction is dedicated to them.**

**It will be a threeshot, and I hope that, if you enjoy it, you will stick around to read the next chapters. There will not be long waits. The entire fic has already been written.**

**Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

Iggy stayed in bed all of the following day, and when Max asked about it, Jeb simply said that he had a fever and needed rest. I was quiet, watching Jeb when he wasn't looking, not able to forget what I had seen and heard the previous night. When Jeb smiled at me, I returned it, but it was a thin smile, a forced smile. Jeb seemed not to notice.

Max asked me to play several times, but I said no. I was afraid that if I played, if I opened my mouth and said something, then it would slip out. _I watched Iggy get raped,_ I would say without meaning to. _It was Jeb, and I did nothing to stop it_.

I'd like to think that the reason I didn't say anything was because I didn't want to ruin our guardian's relationship with the rest of the flock, but that wasn't the truth. I didn't know the real reason. I was ashamed, maybe, that I had stood by and not done anything. I didn't want anyone to know what I coward I was.

Two days passed before Iggy walked shakily down the stairs to greet us at noon. He looked thin, sallow. Jeb smiled and welcomed him into the living room, stating that he was glad that he was feeling better. Confusion flitted across Iggy's face; Jeb was acting just as he always had. He was just as nice as always. He was a nice person, wasn't he?

That night wasn't the last. After that day, I became hyperaware of Jeb's actions around Iggy. And it was just around Iggy. With the rest of the flock, Jeb acted no differently; kind, fatherly, treating scraped knees and pressing ice packs to bruises. He did all this with Iggy as well, but… more.

Jeb's kisses to the rest of the flock were a natural thing. A kiss good-morning. A kiss goodnight. A kiss to make the boo-boo feel better. A kiss of congratulations.

Jeb's lips lingered on Iggy. No one else seemed to notice; but then again, they hadn't witnessed what had happened That Night. His morning kisses lasted a tad too long, his goodnight kisses seemed to always land on Iggy's mouth, and a kiss to make a scraped knee feel better ended up in a place much higher than the knee.

I grew to be a very quiet person. Max detected the change instantly, asked me why I didn't like her anymore. But she wasn't the reason. I didn't talk because I was afraid of what I would say.

Playtime, too, ended for me. When I turned down offers of tag and hide-and-seek, Max would shrug and rush off to run around with Nudge and Gazzy, and I sat on the front porch, head resting on my fist, thinking about the crack of light shining in the hallway, about the stain in Iggy's pajama pants. I had found them in the garbage the following morning, but said nothing about them.

Once, Iggy came up to me, asked if I wanted to help him do a puzzle. I said no, and he wavered for a moment, standing awkwardly over me, and turned away. Jeb offered to help instead, and confused Iggy thoroughly when they had completed the entire puzzle without Jeb making any ulterior move. It confused me as well, as I watched from my seat in the front doorway.

Nothing happened for days. But I remember dinner one night; I don't recall what we were eating, but I was sitting next to Iggy, who was next to Jeb. As I stuck a bit of food into my mouth, I caught a slight movement out of the corner of my eye. Under the table, Jeb's large hand in Iggy's lap, between his legs, kneading the crotch of his pants. Iggy had put his fork down, his fingers jittery, tapping the tablecloth. His expression was blank, wide eyes staring at his dinner plate. Jeb ate his meal calmly, chewing with his mouth closed, his thick mustache twitching on his upper lip.

My stomach tossed, but I forced myself to finish all of my meal, except for the steamed broccoli. Jeb laughed that even mutant children didn't like their vegetables, and I just nodded dumbly.

Several nights later, the family sat down in the living room to watch Star Wars on television. Angel sat in her cradle, chattering and cooing softly behind her pacifier. Max and Nudge and Gazzy sat on the floor in front of the screen, gasping at the special effects, cheering and shrieking as the action unfolded. I sat in the big armchair, sinking against the back of the seat. Jeb had asked Iggy to sit next to him on the couch. As the movie progressed and the kids became more engrossed, Jeb reached over to lift Iggy into his lap. The man that was supposed to be our pseudo-father gently stroked up and down Iggy's stomach, his fingertips slipping under his shirt. I watched out of the corner of my eyes, shooting the two furtive glances. Iggy had that blank expression again, wide eyes staring towards the television screen that he could not see. Jeb watched the movie, continuing to touch Iggy's stomach under his shirt. I saw him lift his hips, rub the front of his pants against Iggy's backside. He continued this action intermittently, but at the end of the movie, he set Iggy aside and stood, clapping his hands together.

"Bedtime!" He said, and the kids groaned in objection. "No ifs, ands or buts!"

The next day, Iggy walked up to me, looking apprehensive.

"Fang," he said. "Will you come play with me?"

I looked at him. I remembered That Night, and all the other instances since then. Iggy knew that I knew. He knew that I knew and hadn't done anything to stop it. That I still hadn't done anything. He knew that I knew, and he still wanted to play with me.

I didn't talk, because if I did I would have said _How can you still talk to me? How can you ask me to play with you when you know that I'm pretending not to know?_

"No," I said, and his expression fell. I wanted to smack him into reality. He should be angry with me. He should be demanding an answer as to why I wouldn't help him. He should be furious, enraged, spitting and hitting me.

Instead, he simply walked away. I went outside and climbed a tree to sit amongst the branches. I watched through the leaves as Iggy walked out to join Max, Gazzy and Nudge in their game of chase. He couldn't keep up with them, always tripping over rocks or rabbit holes and tumbling to the ground. But he laughed and tried his best. I noticed when Jeb walked out onto the porch, crossing his arms over his chest and looking fondly at the children scampering about in the grass. It was confusing, the way he looked at us all with love and caring. It was confusing, to know what he had done to Iggy, what he continued to do, all while he bought us clothes and made us meals and let us stay up past bedtime. But despite my confusion, it must have been even more so for Iggy.

When us three oldest were all eleven, Jeb gave us a big party. He gave the three of us presents, each one exactly what each of us had wanted. He bought us a cake and lit candles for us to blow out. We all sang songs and laughed and took turns beating up piñatas. We watched movies until ten, long after Nudge and Gazzy and Angel had been put to bed. Then, he announced that we were old enough for our own rooms, and that Gazzy, Angel and Nudge could room together in the girls' room. He said that Max could move into the spare bedroom, that I could keep the room that Gazzy, Iggy and I currently shared, and that he was going to clear out the old study and remodel it into Iggy's bedroom but until then, Iggy could sleep in Jeb's room with him.

Max agreed excitedly, but I could see Iggy's apprehension. We slept in our own rooms that night, but the next day Gazzy was moved into the girls' room, Max moved into the spare bedroom, and Jeb moved Iggy's things into his own room. He said that he would probably finish remodeling the study at the end of the week.

I didn't sneak to listen outside of Jeb's bedroom that week, but the thought of what was happening kept me awake for so long that I barely slept a wink until Iggy was finally moved into his new bedroom.

A guilty insomnia still plagued me even after Iggy left Jeb's bedroom, and it couldn't be eased. I watched Jeb kiss Iggy's lips, watched him touch Iggy under the dinner table almost nightly, watched as Jeb sat Iggy on his lap during movies to continue his ministrations. On alternating nights, Jeb took Iggy upstairs to bathe him. He said that, while Iggy was becoming very good at navigating while blind, the bathroom was a dangerous area of the house and it would be very easy for Iggy to slip and hurt himself if he was alone. Once, I snuck upstairs to listen at the door during Iggy's bath, and heard only the sloshing of water in the bathtub and Iggy quietly crying. Sometimes, Iggy's voice would disappear to be replaced by silence and then the sound of bubbles, and I knew that he was being held underwater and wondered what Jeb could be doing to him.

The baths must have been the worst of Iggy's torments, because though Iggy suffered mostly silently through everything, he came to hate taking baths, throwing fits when it was his turn. Jeb would laugh it off, tell him that it was normal for a child to dislike getting washed. But it must have been more than that, because even long after Jeb had gone and Iggy's tortures had ended, it still took Max paying him ten dollars for him to voluntarily take a bath or shower.

Later, when I stole my laptop and the internet became available to me, I researched rape a bit. From what I learned online, many victims feel dirty and sit for hours in the bathtub or shower, trying to get 'clean.' I wondered often what could have been so traumatizing about Iggy's bath times for the exact opposite to occur with him.

But I did not have the right to ask, then or ever, because I simply stood by and let it happen, too much of a coward to protest or offer help. Every time he reached out to me, to ask to play, to try to start a conversation, I brushed him away for fear of what I might say. I locked my words away, scared of revealing what had been happening for the past year and a half. I was too afraid to tell.

**I give thanks to my sweet reviewers: SilverFalkin118, maxridelover, Frenzied Warrior, Nympha Fluminis,** **pandorad24 , Moe10, SH, Alsin, and thedragonninjamurcury. I really appreciate the time you took to let me know how you like the fic.**

**Thanks, also, to all the readers who read but did not review. I appreciate the time you take to read my words. **

**So, there's only one more chapter left after this one. I hope you guys aren't disappointed, but I have to let you know; this was never meant to be a fic with much dialogue, interaction, or confrontation. I am simply describing an act of cruelty and the way it affects and changes the lives of two young boys. There really won't be any solution to the problem. Fair warning.**

**Once again, thanks for reading/reviewing. The support I get from my readers really makes me happy. I hope you continue on until the end. Once again, the wait won't be long at all.**


	3. Chapter 3

Jeb's disappearance when we were twelve came as a shock. Max, Nudge, Gazzy and Angel were devastated. Iggy was sad, confused. I was relieved. There would be no more guilt, I thought. He wouldn't be doing things to Iggy anymore, so there would be nothing more to be guilty about.

I managed to allow myself to speak more words in the following two years. I talked to Iggy some; not much, but some. He seemed ecstatic about it, always wanted to talk to me about bombs, about Max, about television, about girls. He loved talking about girls. I looked that up, too. It seems that boys who have been raped by men can develop a need to be 'hyper-masculine' to make up for it. So Iggy became the "sexist pig" that Max claims he is, although to me, he came across as strangely asexual. Through more research, it was determined that this, too, could be a consequence of his childhood trauma. Due to being forced into sexual activity as a child, he might therefor have a lack of sexual desire or attraction as he grew up.

With the access to this information, I became familiar to all the psychological and physiological consequences that could occur because of the trauma Iggy was forced to endure, and my knowledge of these things made me sick. It was the twisted feeling that _I could have done something_. That I could have stopped it all. If I had just stepped into Jeb's room on That Night and told him to stop, then maybe… maybe I wouldn't be feeling this guilt.

When Jeb rejoined us, staying with Dr. Martinez, advising Max on how to save the world, it was worse. We all huddled together, muttering about the injustice of it all, about how Jeb didn't have the right to come back after leaving us alone all those years.

"He doesn't have the right," Max growled. "He left us alone, and now he comes crawling back and expects us to accept him without question. I'm not doing it, damn it."

Iggy nodded, and there was that confused look on his face that I was so familiar with from when we were children.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't know about it."

And of course he didn't know. How could he? His whole relationship with his family, every moment of his childhood outside of the School, was a mess of confusion, all caused by Jeb. When we were younger, Iggy probably thought 'Why don't I love Jeb, when the others think he's so nice?' Now, his thoughts were probably along the lines of 'Why don't I hate him, when everyone else seems to think he'd be better off dead?'

I always watched Iggy carefully around Jeb. Jeb showed no signs of starting up where he left off with Iggy, but in his simple gestures, the way he looked at him, the way his hand lingered when it brushed Iggy's… it was impossible that it had completely left his mind. And, again, the rest of the flock didn't notice, not when, claiming he had a stomachache, Iggy excused himself from dinner when Jeb decided to sit next to him. They didn't notice the way his expression would glaze over when Jeb touched him, whether it be a pat on the back or a hand on his shoulder. It was obvious that now, although Iggy was no longer a skinny little child, he was still frightened of Jeb.

And Iggy remembered. He remembered that I knew, that I had seen him That Night and had watched all the other times. He remembered that I knew and hadn't done anything, and still he joked with me late into the night and made me my favorite breakfasts on Saturdays.

What could I do but run?

I had always been a coward. I had locked my voice away as a kid, afraid to speak the truth. I had stunted the growth of any close relationship Iggy and I could have had, although, in a way, ours was the closest relationship in the flock. I knew all of Iggy's secrets, and he knew all of mine. And we kept them. And we always would.

But I was too scared to stay, not with Jeb breathing down Iggy's neck and my guilty past creeping up on me far too fast. The only way I could keep it at bay was to leave.

I suppose that initially, the reason that Jeb had picked Iggy to abuse was because Iggy was blind. I think that Jeb thought that because of this vulnerability, Iggy would be easy to manipulate. He wouldn't be able to defend himself. Wouldn't see him coming. And, in a way, Jeb had been right in his choice of victims. Iggy hadn't ever told anyone. He had never in the past, and he never would in the future.

But I knew the real reason why Iggy never told, and it wasn't because of his disability. It was simply because Iggy didn't want to break the flock. Max had looked up to Jeb like a father, Nudge and Gazzy had adored him, and his name and Max's were the first words Angel ever said. If Iggy had confessed to Jeb's atrocities, had told them of what Jeb had done to hurt him, then the flock would be robbed of a father. They would be robbed of happy memories. They would discover that their peaceful childhood with their caretaker, their guardian, was bliss built on a framework of dark secrets and lies. And no matter how much Jeb hurt Iggy, Iggy would never hurt the flock like that.

My earliest memories were looking out of my cage at the School at my flock's faces, fighting Erasers in arenas, enduring harsh experiments. My happiest memories were those of times in the E-shaped house during the second year after Jeb's disappearance, when we had become accustomed to his absence, when Iggy had started smiling happily again. But my most vivid memories would always be that long, dark tunnel with the thin strip of light at the end, looking through the crack in the doorway, hearing the noises from inside Jeb's room, and the bloodstained seat of Iggy's pajama pants as he left our bedroom, sniffling, to fetch me a glass of water.

I was a terrible person. I had allowed atrocities to happen to one of my dearest family. I had watched while Iggy was raped and abused. I had never told Iggy, even though I knew he knew. I had never told a soul. And I never would.

My life, my silence, was built on that framework of secrets that Jeb had built around us. Secret touches under dinner tables. Jeb's fingers under Iggy's shirt as he sat on his lap during family movies. Sounds coming from Jeb's room at midnight. Why Iggy had to be paid to take baths. The real reason for everything that Iggy is, for everything that I am.

The guilt and hatred in me had built up over the years, and there was no way to get rid of it. I had dug this hole myself, and I would never be able to climb out.

**Once again, thanks dearly to all readers and reviewers. Although this is by no means a real account, sometimes reading about characters that one is emotionally attached to can be more influential than reading true stories about strangers. I hope that this story moved you in some way. If it didn't, I'm obviously a failure as a writer and I apologize.**

**Thanks for reading. I really appreciate all your support and encouragement. Kudos.**


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